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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮
SpoilerIn the space of a single inhale and exhale, a dozen hoofbeats drummed the earth and a half-dozen arrows whistled through the air. A thunderclap and a snap of a burning wooden beam broke Cunimund out of his daze. He instinctively reached for a javelin and held it overhand, yelling a challenge in his tongue before joining the back ranks of the Reinmaren cavalry wedge that narrowed and poured through a narrow street. Drumming and whistling made for a rhythm that the horses seemed to match as they charged towards Frankish horse archers who rode in a Cantabrian circle in between burning hovels; they turned what used to be a village on the periphery of Kanunsberg into a shooting gallery.
"Werruekoz ach Frankaroz!" [¹]
Cunimund watched one of the lancers in front of him buckle and be thrown off his horse; an arrow stuck out perpendicular to its front right leg like a weathervane. He released his javelin instinctively and watched as one of the Franks slumped from his own saddle with a wooden shaft half-buried in his back. The remaining lancers continued their charge, breaking off towards separate targets who feverishly tried to turn their horses and break off from the Cantabrian circle. Cunimund and other horse archers and javelineers in the back rank slowed to navigate the kicked up mud, writhing men, and the growing stream of villagers panicked and escaping burning hovels.
A woman shrieked as Cunimund's horse reared, carrying a babe and a disheveled blanket laden with belongings. He yanked on his reins, redirecting his slowed steed through the traffic of friend and fallen foe. Arrows continued to whistle past, notably more off-target as the Frankish horse archers' cries grew fainter in the distance. Everywhere he turned, burning buildings blended together in the flame and smoke. He blinked away imagined images of Drauchreich that camouflaged against the very real sight of the Frankish-born inferno; he swore away those memories from his journey with Um'thraka through the Fiendlands.
SpoilerTranslation:
1. "We (wage) war upon the Franks!"
Cheers for the fun event and RP! @Miniguy15736 @Jihnyny @HugoAntero @Jensen02 @FadedMoonlight @MadOne @marikandaperc @Morphine @KillerMaid
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Moderator Comments
SpoilerI am not writing to indicate that I will penalize for this thread being created in a Roleplay Subforum, but can you - when time permits - write a new post or edit this one to make it more appropriate for the Roleplay Subforum (Aevos -> Human Realms & Culture)? Given what has happened, I can understand you wanted to get this information out sooner rather than later, but the wording of this post is more appropriate for a post in the Feedback forum. Please let me know if you need help with handling those individuals who griefed your human tree list.
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Anteutavahālig [Common: Dignified Boon]
This unique Anteutavahalig has been commemorated in Year 150 of the Second Age and is a gift from Traskaath Dhrolo ( @DankuzMemuz ). This is a gift of Elvellyn medicine, provided by Traskaath of Nevaehlen for the good relations that the Cingedoz kept with the Wood Elves and aid rendered to expatriates of the southern forests.
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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮
SpoilerOOC Note: This particular roleplay instance is restricted in-game knowledge, not to be meta-gamed.
A step through the threshold and Cunimund felt his foot plant, but saw the arch of his foot span towards the visible horizon. His breath caught as he visually experienced himself lurch forward into an archway filled with colorless black. In a split second, he felt a hand against his chest hold him in place as he and Um'thraka shunted through to a new plane. A second after, Cunimund felt himself lean forward half-expecting to fall and his breathing become agitated, excited. The elder Ork appeared next to him, still with his arm braced against Cunimund's chest, unflinching and unaffected by the sojourn between the mortal plane and where they stood now.
The first step after the sojourn tossed fresh embers and smote wood up as if the earth beneath him belched the fiery remains of a forest fire. Cunimund's breathing grew exasperated as black dust choked him; his eyes welled with tears agitated by the odious air beneath a forehead already smearing with dust and debris. He closed his eyes and batted his lashes as ash blew with forge-bellowed winds and danced across the ground in front of him in little dust devils and harmattans. The surface of the ground both Cunimund and Um'thraka stood on spread unevenly, alternating in color between pitch black and a rich, striated orange one might see when an ember is fed a blown breath.
The firmament above them ran the same alternating colors; the two of them had shunted into a cavern. Um'thraka bade Cunimund to follow, having found a solitary exit from the chamber they just arrived in. The two approached the mouth of the cave by shuffling against the cavern walls towards both sides of the opening. A dull, grotesque drumming echoed into the cavern they shared; its sound low enough to indicate a far distance. They both peered out and onto an expansive plain whose sky glowed a sickly pink and towered overhead starless and unremarkable. The Ork grunted and jabbed a thumb to the horizon where the sky and the open plain met.
Cunimund's face sagged with the weight of forlorn and regret. Two-hundred yards from them marched a wicked host. The demons that comprised this host varied in size and in form; some marching on two feet while beasts of burden pulling unwieldy siege engines dragged them on four or eight feet. Some carried polearms and zweihanders with two hands while others carried smaller arms in four hands total. Their bodies were scored with eldritch tattoos and jewelry, some had grotesque horns and appendages of bone jutting out from their heads.
Spoiler1 -
𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮
SpoilerA pack of children, under the watchful supervision of Cardinal Arnaud, had gathered at the bar and handed off to each other banter and drinks; they extolled the holiday of St. Godwin's Day and challenged each other to tell tales intended to frighten. The children gawked at Cunimund as he entered the Whitespirean tavern. Cunimund wore his bear-helm, a boiled leather helmet with a bear head mounted over the skullcap and an accompanying cloak made of bear fur skinned from the neck to the midsection with bear claws on both ends. The Cingedoz Baron took a seat and wrapped himself with the fur cloak, acknowledged first by Philip Laurent.
"Have you a spooky tale to tell Baron?"
Cunimund stood up then and leaned his head forward. The bear-helm cast a shadow over his own eyes as he lined it up straight on his head. His fingertips had a painted mint green hue where they met the helmet's surface. He swiftly leapt from his corner of the tavern to the bar, resting his hands on the shoulders of two of the children sat there. The fur cloak rolled over his hands and draped over the children's shoulders. What looked smooth of the fur cloak felt prickly against the skin and against clothing. One of the children gasped and expressed dread as if a spider teetered up and over their head.
"There once wos' a mighty bear whose hide was needle-bare an' sharp to ta' touch like t'at af' a porcupine! Ta' bear could swaddle no cubs fer' its hide wos' too barbed, it left ta' ground beneath it torn as if toiled by farmer's plow. Threes would be scored by its needle-bare fur!"
The other child whose shoulder the bear fur spilled onto winced and let loose a piercing shriek. Cunimund shrank away, a finger instinctively plugged into his affected ear. The fur felt smooth again to the touch. Philip comforted the panicked child and the other children gathered at the bar were stunned.
"Very spooky, ea liked it!"
"Thank you!"
"It vas niet true zhough, zhe bear und zhe prickly hide?"
Cardinal Arnaud looked at Cunimund incredulously as the question was posed to him. Cunimund shook his head, running his two hands against his enwrapped cloak and held out his palms; they looked smooth and without abrasions or cuts.
"Nay! Ta' tale is merely made up an' mine fur is actually as smooth as one might expect. I slew t'is bear onta' Aaunic highway near ta' mountain pass between Minitz an' Whitespire after findin' ta' bear near ta' accostin' two travelers. As fer' how I made ta' fur appear so like mine tale, ahm' a magickal Bard! Ta' Cingedoz have an affinity fer' ta' magickal Bardic arts."
Spoiler
Tier 2 Bardmancy Event Development Task Completed
Blended together the RP from two separate encounters! Thank you to @Saun_399 @Sander @cherrybud @Fawnytheturtle@DuhPuhWuh @JustAngel69 @Periphonics@Balthasar @carebear @Jensen02 @TheNerdocalypse @Cherubnews @imkenobi for the fun RP!
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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮
SpoilerAdelheid, Cunimund, Haus, and Philip sat altogether at a table in one of the corners in the meadhall. Stone mugs clinked against tabletop and hands slapped against shoulders and knees as the four bantered and spoke. Cunimund leaned an oil painting gingerly against a stained-glass windowsill adjacent to where they sat, thanking Philip for it while keeping the painting from any of the splashing mead tossed up between the four seated.
"And what do you hope your tribe here advances? Will you one day have walls and stone houses spread across the mountain?" Philip asked between sips of spiced mead.
Cunimund leaned forward, chortling abruptly. "Fat chance af' t'at! Mine tribe will always be af' ta' earth an' wood. Our earthenwalls do jos' fine. And we dun' have no fantasy in our minds ta' be a vast folk buildin' beyond our need. We have always been few in number an' comfortably so!" he exclaimed.
A young Cingedoz page and another his elder entered the meadhall; the youth held a letter scrunched underneath a closed fist. The older Cingedoz, Owain ap Fawr, folded his arms with a look of mischief. Ambactorix, the page, unfolded the letter and held it mockingly like a Heartlander herald holding a scroll to read from.
"His Lordship, Cunimund hal'Cingedoz, Baron of Bodbwodz," Ambactorix began, cheekily reading in a higher pitched voice the end of the sentence, "and his esteemed pedigree. . ," with a wiggle of his eyebrow as he looked first to Cunimund and then to his three other guests. Cunimund playfully acted as if poked in the gut, responding with an upright middle finger and a tongue partly stuck out. Ambactorix and Owain jovially did a quick square dance, facing each other and calling each other Lord & Laird; the dance done not of malice, but of jesting. Cunimund clapped a tune for the dance, slowing down as Ambactorix waved off his comedic skit and read the full contents of the letter in plainer tone.
"They have t'eir traditions an' ways jos' as we have ours good Ambactorix an' Owain. They've dun' no deed whereby t'ey act to pry us from our own tradition. I dun' want any af' ye' lot calling me lurd or laird or any such title, I am merely a waxtolangoi or rix, but lord such titles o'er ye as if I expect ye' ta' kiss mine feet. I wouldn't even kiss mine own feet!" Cunimund counseled after Ambactorix read the letter in full, the end of his statement spoken in a lighter tone.
"Richard wos' a good man. A man one could count on whether in battle or in distress. I wish his family none but ta' best."
SpoilerBlended together a response to this post with some recent RP! Thank you to @JustAngel69 @cherrybud @PrimnyaQuorum @Beri for the recent RP & to @FireAGN for addressing the letter to Cunimund.
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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮
SpoilerAdelheid, Cunimund, Haus, and Philip sat altogether at a table in one of the corners in the meadhall. Stone mugs clinked against tabletop and hands slapped against shoulders and knees as the four bantered and spoke. Cunimund leaned an oil painting gingerly against a stained-glass windowsill adjacent to where they sat, thanking Philip for it while keeping the painting from any of the splashing mead tossed up between the four seated.
"And what do you hope your tribe here advances? Will you one day have walls and stone houses spread across the mountain?" Philip asked between sips of spiced mead.
Cunimund leaned forward, chortling abruptly. "Fat chance af' t'at! Mine tribe will always be af' ta' earth an' wood. Our earthenwalls do jos' fine. And we dun' have no fantasy in our minds ta' be a vast folk buildin' beyond our need. We have always been few in number an' comfortably so!" he exclaimed.
A young Cingedoz page and another his elder entered the meadhall; the youth held a letter scrunched underneath a closed fist. The older Cingedoz, Owain ap Fawr, folded his arms with a look of mischief. Ambactorix, the page, unfolded the letter and held it mockingly like a Heartlander herald holding a scroll to read from.
"His Lordship, Cunimund hal'Cingedoz, Baron of Bodbwodz," Ambactorix began, cheekily reading in a higher pitched voice the end of the sentence, "and his esteemed pedigree. . ," with a wiggle of his eyebrow as he looked first to Cunimund and then to his three other guests. Cunimund playfully acted as if poked in the gut, responding with an upright middle finger and a tongue partly stuck out. Ambactorix and Owain jovially did a quick square dance, facing each other and calling each other Lord & Laird; the dance done not of malice, but of jesting. Cunimund clapped a tune for the dance, slowing down as Ambactorix waved off his comedic skit and read the full contents of the letter in plainer tone.
"They have t'eir traditions an' ways jos' as we have ours good Ambactorix an' Owain. They've dun' no deed whereby t'ey act to pry us from our own tradition. I dun' want any af' ye' lot calling me lurd or laird or any such title, I am merely a waxtolangoi or rix, but lord such titles o'er ye as if I expect ye' ta' kiss mine feet. I wouldn't even kiss mine own feet!" Cunimund counseled after Ambactorix read the letter in full, the end of his statement spoken in a lighter tone.
"Richard wos' a good man. A man one could count on whether in battle or in distress. I wish his family none but ta' best."
SpoilerBlended together a response to this post with some recent RP!
3 -
2 hours ago, lemonke said:
(Can't hide it in a spoiler since I'm on the phone. Anyhow, that's how I define my main character in my emotes so many times but I edited it Ig.)
SpoilerYou are fine, I am not giving out any forum warnings, but I am trying to get players to properly write their thread posts with character names (or at least specific rank in X nation/lair/group) as I know that anon-posting is one of many ways for a number of players (not you specifically) to sneak in jabs or quips. The forum rules do dictate that players write their forum thread replies indicating which character belonging to them would be interacting in the post. Your reply edit suffices and thank you!
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Moderator Comments
SpoilerAll those who are anonymous-posting [murmured an Elder, an 'Aheral mused, etc. thread replies meet this threshold] must edit their posts to list the character's names they are responding as. None of the replies appear overtly vitriolic, but Roleplay Subforum Rule #6 still applies. Thank you & have a wonderful day!
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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮
SpoilerOOC Note: This particular roleplay instance is restricted in-game knowledge, not to be meta-gamed.
A step through the threshold and Cunimund felt his foot plant, but saw the arch of his foot span towards the visible horizon. His breath caught as he visually experienced himself lurch forward into an archway filled with colorless black. In a split second, he felt a hand against his chest hold him in place as he and Um'thraka shunted through to a new plane. A second after, Cunimund felt himself lean forward half-expecting to fall and his breathing become agitated, excited. The elder Ork appeared next to him, still with his arm braced against Cunimund's chest, unflinching and unaffected by the sojourn between the mortal plane and where they stood now.
The first step after the sojourn tossed fresh embers and smote wood up as if the earth beneath him belched the fiery remains of a forest fire. Cunimund's breathing grew exasperated as black dust choked him; his eyes welled with tears agitated by the odious air beneath a forehead already smearing with dust and debris. He closed his eyes and batted his lashes as ash blew with forge-bellowed winds and danced across the ground in front of him in little dust devils and harmattans. The surface of the ground both Cunimund and Um'thraka stood on spread unevenly, alternating in color between pitch black and a rich, striated orange one might see when an ember is fed a blown breath.
The firmament above them ran the same alternating colors; the two of them had shunted into a cavern. Um'thraka bade Cunimund to follow, having found a solitary exit from the chamber they just arrived in. The two approached the mouth of the cave by shuffling against the cavern walls towards both sides of the opening. A dull, grotesque drumming echoed into the cavern they shared; its sound low enough to indicate a far distance. They both peered out and onto an expansive plain whose sky glowed a sickly pink and towered overhead starless and unremarkable. The Ork grunted and jabbed a thumb to the horizon where the sky and the open plain met.
Cunimund's face sagged with the weight of forlorn and regret. Two-hundred yards from them marched a wicked host. The demons that comprised this host varied in size and in form; some marching on two feet while beasts of burden pulling unwieldy siege engines dragged them on four or eight feet. Some carried polearms and zweihanders with two hands while others carried smaller arms in four hands total. Their bodies were scored with eldritch tattoos and jewelry, some had grotesque horns and appendages of bone jutting out from their heads.
Spoiler8 -
Cunimund led his horse in a canter towards the Hand of Horen. He entered the palace, making the mountain-strenuous climb to the office for the High Curator. He removed the ornate lapel pin, indicating his office, and rested it on his old desk. He took a deep breath, eyes scanning over the copious bookshelves and their fill. He left the office without a single book retrieved from the office he retired from.
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KELIK HAL'SAGAONMAGJOZ
Sprækjom for "Tower of the Great Library"
𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮
SpoilerThe Cingedoz enjoy the crafting of narratives, the retelling of stories, and the production of great tomes containing myths, lore, and histories. Cunimund has recently completed the first level of a tower, to be extended as more and more books are written, gathered, or even stolen, which will house a vast repository of knowledge. Even the Argant'Elvellynoz may be rivaled once the tower has been expanded and more levels are added to reach further up into the heavenly firmaments. . .
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Although I am currently waiting for my moderation permissions to be removed as I've stepped down, I am going to go ahead and lock this thread.
10 -
A meadhall has been opened to accommodate all those visiting the Cingedoz hamlet.
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Moderator Comments
SpoilerPosts breaching the Forum Rules found HERE have been hidden, warnings dispensed. Consider the following post, made days ago, to be a advisement that I will be moderating the forums against anon-posting, sh*t-posting, and other practices that breach the Forum rules. Cheers, have a good day!
PS: Please note that you need to not vague-post in the form of "The Illatian said. . ." or "The Princess swore. . .". Specify your character's name or, if you hold an official position that is mentioned in another thread, specify that position such as "The High Curator of the Clementine Court" or "Princess of Marsana."
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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮
SpoilerBoisterous banter bounced from person to person gathered in the runestone circle in the centre of Bodbwodz. An Orc proselytized to a Cingedoz; recalling the spirits in his pantheon with glee. A woman shuffled and fidgeted, side-eyeing another of the Cingedoz whose exclamatory expressions were directed to a Lechian.
"Latz can name da zpiritz, nub harm in dat."
"Are you sure you aren't going to eat us?"
"Hah! You hear the word tribe and think us savages?"
"Gott mit uns, it is a good night to share with the baronial neighbors of Merryweather!"
"I wanted to ask to be sworn in as sheriff o' Cunimund, the recent attacks of the cholerny darkspawn has spurred me on to make a decision. I mean to learn the tradition of the hale Cingedos and to adopt the mantle of culture."
Cunimund turned to face his younger counterpart, a fatherly smile beaming. He stood up, going to withdraw a long folded bundle from a nearby earthen-hovel.
"Good Wrotek, it gladdens mine heart ta' hear ye' return. It has been years since ye' first replied to mine offer, bidding me farewell as ye' go out ta' learn the letters and ta' manner af' reading and 'rithmetic," Cunimund replied, drawing off the folded cloak that hid the falx in his possession. He motioned for Wrotek to stand, the two men facing each other surrounded by the small company of tribe-guests.
"I bid thee ta' uplift ta' tribe, ta' uphold ta' law, ta abide by ta' axioms. Know t'at t'ough all af' ta' tribe keep peace an' maintain order, ta' position ye' know as sheriff, to us uemgutus meaning voice of law that we may have a formal person to keep peace and to hunt after the criminal, the eldritch, and the rude who haunt the roads and the woods and the mountains of our land and neighboring domains."
Wrotek bowed just as Cunimund held out the falx; the long blade passing from Baron to the new sheriff. A mixed response ranging from nervous applause from the woman from the sewers of Lurin to rowdy chants from the Orc.
SpoilerCheers for the wonderful RP! @TheGentleDuck @Jihnyny @Calise11 @Mykei
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MC Name:
IbnKhaldun8
Character's Name:
Odoacer hal'Cingedoz
Character's Age:
45
Character's Race:
Highlander Human
What magic(s) will you be learning?
Housemagery
Teacher's MC Name:
Self-Teach Tome
Teacher's RP Name:
Self-Teach Tome
Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:
No
Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your magic app?:
Yes
Are you aware that if this magic is shelved, it will be unavailable to use?
Yes
Self-Teach Tome in Sakuragakure:
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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮
SpoilerMissives are transported on both horseback and by water-bound vessel, first throughout the Crownlands and surrounding duchies of Aaun, then to those neighboring nations with no discrimination to who receives them. The few heralds who harken the contents of the missives address the Elves as Elvellynoz, the Orcs as brydaloz, and the common greeting of Slanu! and Wæshæl! is often addressed to those who the Cingedoz riders introduce themselves to. One particular rider transport a sort of makeshift icon with a painting displayed visibly, he called it an Anteutavahālig - a Dignified Boon.
Across the missives and the manners by which the tribesmen convey message, they all seem to go like this. . .
QuoteHail and Whole Health!
I invite you to visit our humble village nestled among the schiltron of mountains known as the Langkettes that crown Aaunic Whitespire to its west. We have been fortunate to host a great assembly of peoples from across Aevos after we finally found a goodly land to settle. Whether you wish merely for company and good tales to paint a scene for your mind's eye or perhaps a neutral ground to settle disputes. Whether you look to adopt a culture that will arm you with courage and cause to live or to drown your sorrows from the woes that wield itself over the world; we welcome all to visit us in our village of Bodbwodz. Look upon painted runestone and wonder, look out across valleys from highest peaks and become wonderstruck! Perhaps you need a tale or history written in finest tome, that our people do too!
Find us atop the Langkette Mountains, reachable by visiting Merryweather in Aaun and with signposts directing you to a mountain pass in order to climb the full elevation to our home.
SpoilerOver the past few weeks, we've enjoyed a wonderful time with random travelers finding the Cingedoz village and interacting! Though our members are few, we are narrative-driven and enjoy the ability to write one with you! Want to see the possibilities, read here:
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MC Name: IbnKhaldun8
Discord: IbnKhaldun8
Image:
Description of Image: Symbolic carving in a runestone
Dimensions: 1 wide, 1 high
1 -
The two men approached a narrow, decorative bridge spanning across the pond dug neatly in one corner of the Oyashiman-styled villa. One of the men, with a kabuto crowning his head, crossed gingerly to the opposite end and left the other to plant his feet on the end just crossed. The pair held sparring swords as still as the pond's untouched edge beneath them. The only movement between the duelists at first was that of their eyes, tracing each other and their foregrounds; koi fish raced in patterns beneath the surface of the pond.
"You both will spar with one another. The first to make contact with the other's body gains a point, the first to three will win. If you topple over into the water, your opponent will also gain a point."
The Renshin duelist made his first approach, holding his sword high over his right shoulder and shuffling his feet enough to close the distance between his opponent. His strike bore down against his opponent's left side and his opponent attempted to beat back the blow before it landed against him.
"Nemeto ach teutoaju!" [¹]
Wood beat against flesh, making for a dull gong. An excited yelp and the men separated.
"One point for Mogura-san!"
Cunimund turned on the balls of his feet to face Mogura again. He initiated the approach this time, taking a one-two step forward and bringing the sword in a swipe upward and towards Mogura's left hip. The Renshin reciprocated with a block and a lunge forward.
"Hwakin ju sin dobre?!" [²]
Wood drummed against clavicle, a louder beat. Cunimund withdrew this time no longer with smile, but a mouth agape with aggravation.
"Another point for Mogura!"
Mogura, on his third approach, closed with greater speed. Cunimund raised his sparring sword while keeping his hips open and balance teetering between both knees; the Renshin's attack came too swiftly for the Cingedoz to respond. Cunimund closed his eyes and clenched his mouth as Mogura sent him careening off the bridge and into the pond below. He surfaced, gasping for air like a fish out of water and with a lilypad resting on his head like a kasa [³].
The two met and embraced after Cunimund climbed out of the pond, Cunimund remarking on the martial tradition of the Renshin. Ame, tasked with refereeing the spar, inclined with courtesy and came to Cunimund carrying towels to dry himself.
"I've clearly spent too much time fightin' in shieldwalls and naught enough time taking care ta' develop mineself in one-on-one combats. Tis' a honor ta' duel ye'. Yer' sword-strokes fell true t'is day good Mogura!"
Cherry blossoms scented the breeze that blew in between the walls that enclosed the Renshin tsuboniwa [⁴], the calm after the combat.
SpoilerTranslations:
1. Common Translation: Honor upon your people!
2. Common Translation: How are you this good?!
3. Kasa: Wide-brimmed conical hats https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kasa_(hat)
4. Tsuboniwa: Courtyard, enclosed gardens common in Japan https://najga.org/handbook/courtyard-garden/
Thank you to @MCVDK @Astrophysical @Yagi_Kamisama for the fun RP at Midori Kawa!
6 -
Camboshālig [Common: Trade-boons]
This Camboshalig has been commemorated in Year 148 of the Second Age and is a trade-boon from the Dominion of Vortice. The rix Cunimund warns his kin that the Vorticians are a difficult people to find, but they have an entire plateau carved out where shop stalls litter the geological formation. He works to dissuade his people from visiting as they will not be well-received to trade person to person in open trade.
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During a visit down to Apfelberg, at the base of the Langkette Mountains, Cunimund received a letter. A-ha! That castle I passed on the border of Aaun & Lurin must belong to Ser Gawyn. He sent the letter then to his kinsman Sendrenx, inviting him and his Elf-Friend Yorvill to bring their musical instruments with them.
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Cunimund, Yorvill, and a few tribesmen rode along the high road overlooking the cove facing the Silver Sea between Dunfarthing and Aaun. The Baron peeled back leaf after leaf from a red cabbage, eating it and remarking on its watery freshness. A wagon creaked and groaned as its wheels turned against cobblestones. The tribesmen rejoiced, promising one another to visit the Commune again.
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Camboshālig [Common: Trade-boons]
This Camboshalig has been commemorated in Year 148 of the Second Age and is a trade-boon from the Commune of Wyrtmark-Kabestan. Their leader, Arijoutsi ( @LordofCabbage ), exchanged it with Cunimund hal'Cingedoz after the Baron led a trade caravan from the Barony of Bodbwodz to Dunfarthing - land of the Halflings. This particular cabbage has been encased in brine to preserve, an aged sauerkraut if you will.
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[PK] The Death-right Duel & the Razing of Bodbwodz
in Human Realms & Culture
Posted
𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮
Night quiet fell upon Bodbwodz, a starry veil glimmered overhead. Cunimund closed his eyes as he felt mountain air buffet his mantle drawn across his shoulders. The cold feels good against my head after my feet walked the hot ash of the Fiendlands. He stood watch in the tallest of the thatch-roofed towers, striding from one end to one end; keeping watch across the valleys of the Reinmaren and the Crownlands. A cruel death that Um'thraka warned me about is farthest in this serenity. His head swiveled, looking over the meadhall to Sendrenx's woodwork shop, pausing and facing a figure pacing between crannogs capped with fur walking in from the north.
"Ormar bjarga mér, this is the most civilized place I've seen!" the figure exclaimed, lofting a hand up as Cunimund made a motion with his carnyx warhorn in hand.
"That is a first ta' hear, most find us ta' be on ta' precipice af' savagery compared to ta' Heartlanders who live in ta' valleys below from Lemon Hill ta' Whitespire," Cunimund remarked with an inoffensive chortle before greeting, "Wæshæl! No harm will come ta' ye' here."
Cunimund looked the man up and down, dressed in thick Highlander garb more suited for winter than for temperate clime. He saw the man drum his fingers nonchalantly against a belt-purse laden with goods near to spilling out.
"Ogbiju andlet oiman! We can sit in ta' meadhall down ta' hill a few paces so ye' can unpack wot' goods an' belongings ye've brought an' kick yer' feet up fer' a spell," Cunimund suggested, opening a palm in the direction of the establishment and waving the man through with the other. They both went downhill and reached the meadhall, the pair shuffling through stone mugs until two were found clean and filled them up with spiced metheglin.
"Skál!" the man excitedly cried before downing an entire mug's worth of mead. He wiped his soaked beard with the back of a hand and began to undo knots along his belt purse; he had seal pelts, Hyspian bracelets of gold and sapphire, and octagonal coins of no distinct minting. In response, Cunimund stood up and fetched polished fragments of amber, rounded beads of precious coral, hides from bighorn rams, bronzen torcs, and a few books. The two sat at their table, sliding different goods across from one another as they negotiated an exchange.
"The goat hide interests me, as does the amber, and the armhringr too," the man said, pointing to the bronzen torcs at the end of his statement.
"I'll take ta' seal pelts an' ta' bracelets af' gold an' sapphire," Cunimund said with a tone of agreement. The two exchanged goods for goods, three seal pelts and three Hyspian bracelets for two pieces of amber, two rolls of hide, and two torcs with terminals shaped in the form of crows.
"I have one question for you o' member of the Cingedoz tribe" the man began, leaning his head forward and removing his fur cap. He rested it gingerly on the table, the oblique bill facing Cunimund. Cunimund nodded, smiling with the exchange of trade and words.
"I want to fight one of your tribe, is this possible?" the man asked, as matter-of-factly as he spoke while trading. Cunimund eyes lit up with full attention.
"Would ye' accept me as duel-partner?" Cunimund asked in return. The man nodded.
"Let us agree to an arm, a shield, an' a sidearm. Neh' armor an' we shall fight upon ta' earthenwalls facin' Merryweather," the two men nodded as they stood from the table in the meadhall. They went one after the other outside and towards the walls.
"I assume like most southlanders, you are disinclined to a fight to the death?"
"By mine honor, I accept t'is duel ta' be one to ta' death. Let it naught be known that a Cingedoz warrior flees ta' prospect af' perishing," Cunimund responded. By then, the two stood face to face, ten paces from one another. Cunimund, having chosen a falx as his main arm, brings the blade to rest flat against his nose and his lips embraced against frigid steel.
"You are the first one down here to gain my respect o' Cingedoz," the man conceded as he removed his lamellar hauberk and woolen undershirt. His torso glistened in the moonlight with a dozen freshly healed-over scars; his arms and legs seemed like vine-stakes with swirling blue tattoos winding around them shaped in serpentine iconography. He held out a round-shield and held a spear underhand.
The Baron began the duel with a single step, crouching slightly and holding his scutum shield forward to afford him coverage from neck to knee. He kept his falx-blade upright and behind the shield. His opponent stepped forward in unison, the two soon coming to clash.
Metal against metal, Cunimund's opponent thrust his spear forward and struck against the boss of the scutum shield and worked it over the top of Cunimund's shield. The Cingedoz warrior ducked, pressing his right ear against the back of his shield and swiped his falx from edge to edge against the top lip of the shield; his opponent's spear clanked against the side of the shield as the falx pushed its shaft from over the top of the scutum. The opponent sidestepped as Cunimund pressed forward.
Cunimund felt the boss of his opponent's round-shield drum him in the right shoulder, he continued with the momentum of his falx-swing and the opponent's hook to spin completely around and bore down falx-steel against spear-shaft. The Cingedoz took the opportunity to press his scutum shield against his chest as the opponent's spear was thrown back. He is smiling.
The opponent hiked up a boot and kicked Cunimund with all his northern might. The shield whined, wood warping slightly, as the boot squarely met the shield and sent Cunimund wheeling backwards. The Baron winced, feeling a sharp pain in his back as he was sent flying into the earthenwall parapet; up and over the Baron fell off onto the other side.
Um'thraka warned me that death would give chase to me upon accepting his grimoire, but this is a good death. A hale death dictated by honor. Cunimund gasped for breath as the wind was knocked out of him, having fallen off the wall and onto the snow caped ground below. Strong breath came to him before clear vision, a blurry figure grew to nearly encompass his sight. His hands reacted instinctively, gripping a cold shaft of wood that stuck out of his chest. Yellow-green eyes met his as his face froze, a death mask set in rigor.
"Thank you good warrior. . ," the opponent bore witness.
𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮
Men, women, and horses streamed up through the Langkette Mountains towards Bodbwodz. Ser Ferdinand Barclay led a troop of Minitzers towards the Cingedoz village as towers of smoke teetered with the carrying winds lofted above. The first to arrive crossed themselves and bowed their heads with modesty. A decapitated body with an impalement wound bounced with all its dead weight, having been strung up from the earthenwalls that faced Merryweather. Scattered belongings including two books written by the Baron laid around a slight impression in the ground below.
The firefighters passed through the walls and found crannogs, hovels, and towers crumbling in on themselves in a burning inferno. A single set of footprints and drag marks from stools dotted a beeline from the meadhall to the centre of the village. Only the runestone circle stood unaffected, though scorch marks from flame flashes and coughed embers streaked the limestone.
Incredible Roleplay. To help keep the awesome combatant's identity secret to avoid metagaming, his RP name is omitted from the narrative post and crossed out from the screenshots provided. I've had a blast since returning to the server and being able to introduce an incredible cultural entity that is the Cingedoz, but I intend to fade back into the sunset playing more of a window dressing character in another nation. I intend to keep contributing by bringing more and more lore in-game through Minecraft book transcribing, but I will no longer play a leader whether of a nation (like back in Aegis), or a settlement, lair, or cultural group.
If anyone is interested in taking and leading the Cingedoz, feel free to hit me up on Discord! Likewise, there is a potential idea that me and a few cats are playing with where the Cingedoz would be revived as Undead thralls. If you like this idea instead, hit me up!
Have a wonderful day and have fun playing the game!